


How it Feels to Take a Fall

by TheBraveHobbit



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:07:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBraveHobbit/pseuds/TheBraveHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>exR oneshot<br/>Enjolras worries about Grantaire's substance abuse</p>
            </blockquote>





	How it Feels to Take a Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for alcoholism and addiction  
> Prompt fill: "Icarus" by Bastille

Grantaire had promised to stop drinking.

Enjolras had not believed him, and had told him so, though he had not meant to be so brusque. He should have said something more tactful. He should have been supportive, even in doubt. Grantaire deserved that.

“Alright.” Grantaire had laughed, but not with his real laugh. It had been his defensive laugh, his rough, barking, hollow crack of a laugh. Before they’d started dating, Enjolras had thought that was the only laugh Grantaire had. Now that he knew differently, now that he knew the sound of those chimes…

This was a painful sound.

“Alright, not stop, maybe. I’ll cut back. I’ll try. I don’t…I don’t have to have it. So much. I’ll try. For you.”

Enjolras had not been trying to coerce anything from the man. The pedestal Grantaire had put him upon was not stable, and he had done his best to kick it from beneath himself. If Grantaire wanted to stop drinking, then Enjolras would support him, of course he would, but Enjolras was not a savior. Not like that. Grantaire would have to make those choices for himself. Enjolras had asked for nothing. Not yet.

Grantaire had been pressed into Enjolras’ side, his nose buried in the deep curve of a shadowed collarbone, fingers tracing the seam of Enjolras’ binder in lazy little trails. His eyelashes had fluttered thrills against Enjolras’ skin, and he had made promises he couldn’t keep.

Enjolras had known.

For a time, at least, Grantaire had made an effort. The empty bottles that littered the apartment, the piles of unwashed laundry, and the scattered skeletons of crumpled paper cups had all disappeared.

Enjolras didn’t know what set things wrong. Was it too much? Too little? Had he been too distant? Too close? What had he said? What had he neglected to say?

It had been months since he’d seen Grantaire so intoxicated. Had he been drinking all day? How early had this begun? How long had he been hiding it? The empty bottles had reappeared seemingly overnight, propped in haphazard and irreverent shrines beside the toaster, the microwave, the couch.

Grantaire didn’t give Enjolras a chance to speak, pushing past to leave the other spinning in his wake, dizzy with the smell of whiskey that wafted in his shadow. The whole building shuddered with the resentment that slammed the door, and the aftershock of Grantaire falling against it was nearly as powerful. Enjolras could just imagine him, slouched on the front step and cradling that awful red cup, only surrendering it long enough to light himself a smoke, hands folded protectively over the fragile flame of his lighter as his shoulders bowed beneath an impossible weight.

_He’s going to kill himself if this keeps up._

Nothing had changed. Enjolras had not expected it to, and yet he ached with disappointment and worry.

_Why is he doing this to himself?_

Enjolras had never known. He’d never asked. It had always been this forbidden thing, this secret hurt that Grantaire held more precious than the man who adored him, who now stood helpless on the wrong side of that impossible door.

_He’s too young for this. He’s too good. There’s so much more to him than this._

Enjolras could see it.

Everyone could see it.

Everyone but Grantaire, and Grantaire was the only one who mattered.

_What am I going to do, if I lose him to this?_


End file.
